Bacon and Choices

When I was growing up I had a mostly adversarial relationship with my younger sister. Looking back, the responsibility for the tone of our relationship falls firmly in my court. When I was angry, she felt my wrath. When I was in a good mood, she didn’t. I can’t really say what drove my feelings, but the closest emotion I can pinpoint now, decades later, is jealousy. As teens we became friends, and I came to realize how much more alike we were than different. And of course when she died of cancer when she was 17 and I was 20, it felt all the more awful because we’d just started to enjoy our relationship. I know we would have been extremely close as adults.

Last weekend the girls and I were out for the day and stopped in to a Dunkin Donuts for a quick lunch. The girls each got a breakfast sandwich: croissant with egg and sausage for Krystal and bagel with egg and bacon for Belle. I had one of their “lighter’ options. I watched them make these sandwiches, and may be turned off to sandwiches there forever. They grabbed a pre-made sandwich from a cooler, popped it into a microwave, wrapped it in paper and stuffed it in a bag. We grabbed one of the small tables inside and ate.

We all like really crispy bacon. Like, practically burnt crispy. And the bacon in Belle’s sandwich was decidedly not cooked to our liking. Big surprise, huh, considering how it was cooked.  And all at once, Belle started choking, was unable to catch her breath. Three women standing in line near us, who must be mothers, leaned in with offers to help. I banged her on the back once, and swiped her mouth, taking out a piece of bacon. The choking continued, so I reached in again with my finger to swipe again, and pulled out a super long piece of bacon fat, which was halfway down her throat. Choking stopped, breathing returned to normal. It wasn’t really scary to me until it was over. But of course she was never really in any danger and we went on with our day.

Tonight Krystal and I were in the car on the way to pick up Belle and she said, “I’m afraid to eat at Dunkin Donuts because Belle choked.” I reassured her that it was not Dunkin Donuts that made her choke, but undercooked bacon, and she really didn’t have anything to worry about. Then she said, “I know sometimes I say I wish Belle wasn’t around, but I keep thinking, what if she really choked and died? I’d really miss her.”

I am pretty sure I didn’t have that kind of self-awareness at eight years old. Sometimes the wisdom this kid comes out with stops me in my tracks.

I told her a little bit about how I felt about my sister when I was her age, and how now that she is really gone, it is the one thing I’d change in my past if I had the power to go back. And this got her thinking about all the ways different choices or events in our life can color what comes next. She said that sometimes she wishes she hadn’t been adopted, but then she thinks about not having me for a mom, or Belle for a sister, and she can’t imagine it. She said she wishes she could have it both ways – to have me for a mom, and to know her birth mother and know why.

The Highs and Lows of Meeting the Teacher and New Math

I look forward to meeting the teacher each year at the Open House. Last night I got to meet Krystal’s 3rd grade teacher.

Now, for most of the past year, Krystal has been saying “I hope I get Mrs. C. for 3rd grade!” I heard it so many times, and I kept telling her that I was sure all the teachers would be great and that she shouldn’t get her hopes up for one particular teacher. Class lists were posted at the school the week we were away on vacation, so the day we came home we didn’t even go home first – we went straight to the school to check whose class she was in.

Of course, she didn’t get Mrs. C. She got Mrs. M. Tears ensued. It was not a great homecoming. (Plus, it was cold and raining! Insult to injury I tell you!)

On the first day of school (last week), Krystal came home saying it was a horrible day because none of her friends were in her class, and oh yeah, her teacher yelled at her. Yelled at her? She says it was for putting a chair up on the desk the wrong way.

Two days later she was forgiving Mrs. M. for the chair incident, chalking it up to stress on the first day of school. By day 5 she was declaring her love for Mrs. M. Phew.

My first impressions: Wow, Krystal’s school grows some tall teachers. Her 2nd grade teacher was quite tall, and so is this one – 5′10″ I want to say. I loved her attitude, her apparent sense of humor and her honesty. She described the curriculum and said it is heavily weighted to reading, writing and math (the ole 3 R’s haven’t gone out of style!). She said any social studies or science they do is usually tied into reading and math. She even said, quoting here as best I can – “Our social studies program is a little weak. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say that.” I appreciate hearing that from her – I know she has to follow the guidelines she’s given, but it also gives me the chance to supplement it at home, especially since Krystal is interested in history and current events.

When talking about the math program, she said, “We use Everyday Math (which Krystal has been using since 1st grade) and a lot of parents hate it. The math is totally different from the way we all learned it.” The kids are thick into multiplication this year, which Krystal got a good head start on last year, but 3rd grade is the Year of Multiplication (or so I have deemed it). She said they use the lattice method to teach it. Hanging around the room were various things the kids had done in the first week of school, including a sheet on their expectations, hopes and dreams for the year. Krystal’s said she was excited about learning lattice math. So I asked her about it. Turns out she had no idea what it was, but thought it sounded cool.

So I looked it up. Let me see if I can give you a picture (you’re welcome to read more about it by following the link). Try this problem: 14 x 56.

Oh. My. God. What a mess! I get it…..but I don’t get why you would want to teach a child to use this method. It takes up a lot of scratch paper, way too much pencil lead and is confusing as heck! What’s wrong with the way I learned??

I suppose I’ll have to help Krystal work on her problems this way, but I think I’ll teach her my way too.

Crazy new math.

Wearing Summer

See what Krystal made me?

Here is another view:

She got the thread/yarn (I’m really not sure what it’s called) in a kit for her birthday on making Friendship bracelets. She and her friends have been making them at camp and she is sporting 3 anklets on her own left ankle. One day last week she was home sick and decided to make me one. She had me pick four colors (from about 20 or so in the kit), and started right in. The colors in the photo appear a bit washed out (must be that super expensive camera with all the fancy settings, yeah, that’s it) but I chose pink, purple, green and white.

I think she did an excellent job, and it feels very “summer” to wear it. Which is good, since it’s about the only thing summery about this summer yet.

Survival Parenting

I try to be a good parent. I think we all do. I want what’s best for my kids, and that means taking care of them physically – making sure they have clean clothes and healthy food, and emotionally – encouraging them to do their best and comforting them when things don’t quite go their way.

Then there are the times when it all goes out the window, and you go into survival parenting mode. When the only parenting goal you really have is to make sure your kids stay alive. That happens when Mom gets sick. This is when I wish there was someone else to lean on.

Since Saturday afternoon when I first started feeling symptoms, I’ve been really only able to take care of myself. I spent most of Sunday in bed. It was raining and there was nothing for the kids to do. They watched TV all day. They asked for popcorn while they watched a movie, and that was their lunch. For dinner I did manage to drag myself up to make some tortellini before crashing again. Anything they wanted for a snack I said yes to.

Krystal has assigned herself as my nurse. She has been urging me to call the doctor since Sunday (I finally did on Tuesday). She made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Belle and herself for Monday night’s dinner as I just couldn’t do it. Tuesday morning she got up and went downstairs before coming to see me and brought me a glass of cold water and the thermometer. She said, “Which medicine do you take? I only saw the Tylenol PM, I didn’t see Tylenol AM.” And I laughed and she didn’t know why.

Krystal also made lunches for she and Belle to take to camp on Tuesday. She said she liked playing mom, but she could see how much work it was.  I whimpered during the whole 10 minute drive to camp. Everything hurt and it wasn’t getting any better.

The doctor said it’s H1N1, as I’ve already relayed, and that I should expect to be out of commission for 7-10 days. Today is Day 5, and I’m happy to say that I’m seeing light. As I told the girls this morning, I feel better, but not better. Right now my goal is to make sure the kids don’t get it. The doctor suggested wiping down all doorknobs in the house, encouraging frequent hand washing, and keeping food preparation to a minimum. When I told the girls all this Krystal groaned, “I’m tired of playing the mom! It’s too much work!” Of course, Krystal is in survival parenting mode too, since that’s pretty much all an 8 year old has up her sleeve in that department.

I think I’ll take us all out to dinner when this thing finally blows over. We’ll all be ready for it by then.

What does juvenile mean?

Tonight in the car, Krystal asked, “Mom, what’s juvenile mean? Is it jail?”

“Where did you hear it?” I asked. I’ve learned this is the best response to any question like this, as often what she means is far less benign than my first impulse to answer.

“I don’t know,” she answered. Damn, this might be a little more difficult then.

“Well, it basically means kid,” I explained. “Juvenile means for kids, not adults. Sometimes people will say something is juvenile as a way to say it is childish, in a not-nice way, but it doesn’t have to be.”

Then, because of her earlier “jail” reference, I went on to explain what “Juvy” meant, and I’ll spare you that explanation.

Krystal then offered, “Well Mary says princesses are juvenile, which is silly because one, she’s a kid, and two, they’re not, and three, what difference does it make?” all said in a rush.

Indeed.

One not-nice thing about myself I have learned in my parenting journey is that there is often a lot I don’t like in other people’s children. Girls in particular can be so mean!

For the record, it would not surpirse me in the least if one of Krystal’s friend’s parents was blogging about my mean daughter. I’m not saying my kid is an angel, but she’s mine and I hate to see how she gets hurt by both careless actions and purposeful words said by her peers. The teen years frighten me.

Of the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny and you-know-who

Those of you who are my Facebook friends may remember a status update I did last week in which Krystal asked me if I were the Easter Bunny.

(Oh, and if you are not my Facebook friend and would like to be, let me know in email or a comment and I’ll “friend” you – no obligation though!)

I asked her what she thought and she said, quite confidently, that she thought I was. I agreed that indeed I was and gosh, how silly to think of a giant rabbit hopping around giving gifts. We laughed over that, and I said how happy I was to have a helper this year. She was delighted to be “in” on the secret and showed absolutely no sign of disappointment. Just like when she asked me about the Tooth Fairy, she seemed almost victorious in figuring it all out.

Two nights later when Belle was in the bathroom, Krystal sidled up to me and asked me quietly if I were the one who put things in stockings too. I had known we wouldn’t make it through another Christmas with full belief, but I didn’t expect it so close on the tail (get it! ha ha!) of the Easter Bunny. Knowing Belle would be back any second, and wanting to take some time to talk about it, I asked if we could talk later, since it wasn’t even that time of year. I thought she might forget about it for awhile in the hustle and bustle of life.

Nope – the next evening when I picked her up from school she asked me again. Just like I had with the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny, I asked her what she thought, and she said she thought yes. I asked if she were sure, and she said she was. I dragged that out as long as I could before saying that yes, parents are Santa Claus. We then talked about how that explains how some kids get iPods and cell phones (not us!) while other kids get books and games. In our family Santa doesn’t wrap and gives one big gift and a stocking, in others he wraps presents or might give all or most of the gifts. Santa does different things in different families because that is what the parents decide to do. One of the things I was careful to say was “Parents are Santa” rather than “There is no Santa”. I also told her about how we all have the spirit of Santa in us, even if there isn’t really a man in a red suit making all the toys. When I told her I’d need her help this year to be Santa with me for Belle, she was thrilled to have graduated to the next level.

I think I was a year older than Krystal, a third grader, when I learned the truth. While I don’t remember the moment of realization, I do remember feeling so disappointed that first Christmas. In fact, that year we got a tape recorder and my voice on the (long missing) tape sounds desperate and sad as I try to keep up the game for my younger sister.

Krystal felt no such sadness, even when I told her that story. She seemed to feel it was fun while it lasted, but it’s good to know the truth too. I really admire her approach to it all.

On Easter eve I assembled the Easter baskets after the girls were in bed, but Krystal really wanted to be part of it. So the next morning I had her go downstairs to see if the Easter Bunny had come, and she came back up very importantly announcing that he had, and we all went down to see the bounty. Several times throughout the day she would say something like, “I really should thank the Easter Bunny for all this,” and then give me a big wink.

Who says they grow up so fast? I do.